--- This is really beginning to piss me off. First, I think I've got it
figured out as to how he's getting in here. I'm not tipping my hand
this time, though, so you'll just have to wait to see if my mission is
succesful.
Second, he called me kitten. GOD ALMIGHTY THERE IS NOTHING I HATE MORE IN THIS WORLD THAN BEING CALLED KITTEN.
UGH!
I am not a kitten. I just don't have any of those qualities you
associate with kittens---cute, fuzzy, small, cuddly---it's just not an
appropriate endearment. Besides, its sexist and demeaning. Ugh. It
harks back to that era where it was considered socially appropriate for
men to go to Playboy bars to play a quick game of grab ass with the
bunnies, rather than just drinking themselves into a stupor. It makes
me want to take a shower---a long one---to wash off the slime that might
have touched me simply by the husband's usage of the term. EEEEEEEEWWW!
He knows I hate this term, too. That's why he used it. He's
deliberately provoking me. --- It's snowing here. Copiously. But it's
taking its time about dumping said copious amounts of snow. In
technical terms, what we've got going on here is prolonged flurrying:
you have a hard time believing, when you look out the window, that it
could add up to a foot. But it does, and it's more than halfway to
accomplishing its goal. It's been snowing since Saturday night---and
it's not supposed to stop until tonight. When all is said and done,
we're supposed to receive a foot of new snow. And this is on top of the
eight inches we got last week. We're running out of places in the Cake
Eater Alley to put the stuff. I just got done with Round Two of
snowblowing. The piles of white junk are so high in certain spots that
it's an impossible task to angle the snowblower any more funkily. You
see, you have to try and put the snow on top of the ten-foot-high
bank---to do so, you must take the handle of the snowblower, go low
with it, and angle the blade in a just-so manner so the snow hits the
top of the bank. The bottom of the snow bank already has the girth of
Andre the Giant: any more snow at the bottom and no one will be able to
park in our extra spots, ultimately rendering the entire snow removal
process as a worthless experience. This is where we're at. I managed to
get a whole lot of snow at the top of the bank, adding probably another
foot or so of height, but unless the Divine decides to intervene the
next time we snowblow---which will be in a couple of hours--- there is
no way in hell we will be able to put more snow on top of the bank.
Just isn't going to happen. Any more snow and the whole bank will
collapse, like a sandcastle that just wasn't architecturally sound. And
honestly, that's the last thing we need.
So, we'll just have to blow it into the alley instead. The City plows
the alley: they own that little strip of concrete we all use to get to
our garages. They come through with an industrial plow and push it all
into the obnoxious Cake Eater neighbor's yard. Totally true and it's
the coolest thing ever. He has a pile of snow in his yard that's coming
up on twenty feet high. Holy of Holies. I'm sure he's got some deal
with the city that ensures he gets some sort of compensation for this
usage---he's a mercenary, there is no such thing in his book as
something for nothing---but this also means that the snow that sullies
my driveway, if I blow it into the alley, winds up in his
yard. Tee hee. Anyway, I'm tired from the snowblower war waging. I just
ate lunch, so I'm sure I'm just experiencing digestion-induced oxygen
deprivation, but on top of snowblowing, I'm pooped. Am going to take a
nap now. Will be back later with comments about Janet's nipple.

Posted by: Kathy at 01:52 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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